


reverent

by sayweareleaving



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, haven't watched tfa in 100 years, here it is, my 1am conceptual af writing lmao, sorry for inconsistencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 17:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10791648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayweareleaving/pseuds/sayweareleaving
Summary: It’s a special and a soft look, the one she reserves for him. It’s gonna chase him, he knows. It’s gonna chase him as long as he lives, a stray yapping at his heels.





	reverent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brietopia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brietopia/gifts).



> A prompt I published on my blog! You can see the post here: http://sayweareleaving.tumblr.com/post/160208761039/finnrey-reverant-that-word-i-cant-spell-for
> 
> Apologies for any errors! Haven't had the chance to proof-read this yet.
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s a special, soft look, the one she reserves for him. It’s gonna chase him, he knows. It’s gonna chase him for as long as he lives, a stray yapping at his heels. 

Finn wonders why she has to look at him like that. Doesn’t she know that she’s already making it impossible for him to think? Impossible for him to breathe? He’s still talking, somehow, only he’s not sure what exactly he’s saying. To his ears, it just sounds like some mix of fear, and want. Bone-deep, aching. 

“I’m not a hero,” he’s saying. And stars, he’s terrified. But isn’t there something freeing about this? It’s like he’s discovering, for the first time, that he’s always had wings. They’ve just been clutched in the jaws of a hound.

“I’m a stormtrooper,” he continues. “Like all of them, I was taken from a family I’ll never know. And raised to do one thing.”

He wonders if this is it. If everything’s about to topple, and he’s about to lose her. Will she be able to look at him the same way once she knows that his hands were bred only for violences? For battle, blood? He can only hope that Rey sees that he’s changed: tenderness is a bruise on his tongue.

“But my first battle, I made a choice. I wasn’t gonna kill for them. So I ran. Right into you. And you looked at me like no one ever had.” 

Like I wasn’t a walking weapon. Like I was more than a pair of fists. Like my own fate wasn’t already made for me. 

It’s still there, that fear. A whimpering, keening thing. But he’s been aware of some other feeling creeping in. Something far bigger than that fear. Something far sharper, sliding between his ribs as easily as through butter. A kind of pang, soft and sweet.

He’d ran right into her. And how can he blame himself? She’s some kind of singularity, he thinks, pulling him to her, into her, until he can almost imagine that her bravery is his own. That the light streaming from her is, in fact, coming from him. 

That’s the thing, isn’t it, he thinks, looking up at her wide-eyed. She’s all-encompassing, all-enveloping. The space around her screams with a quiet grace.

“I was ashamed of what I was. But I’m done with the First Order. I’m never going back. Rey—” And now. Now. The moment this all hinges on. “Come with me.”

It’s a selfish request, really. And one he doesn’t expect her to acquiesce to. After all, he thinks with wonder, she’s braver than he is. Braver than he could ever hope to be.

She’s the bravest person he’s ever known.

There’s a pause. Just a small one. But he feels like he’s teetering on the edge of a precipice, her on one side, and darkness on the other. His skin burns where her gaze touches, and he wonders if this is what it is to become aware of the Force. 

(Or perhaps it’s love. Both are huge, and magical, and utterly beyond his comprehension.)

“Don’t go.” 

Silence. Stillness. Stars, he wishes he was braver.

He looks at her for a moment more, eyes sweeping over her features. If this is the last time he’s to see her, he doesn’t want to forget this moment. He wants every second etched into his memory. His gaze clings to her like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood.

And then, then, feeling the heaviest he’s felt in ages, in anticipation of the weight of her absence, he carves out a few more words, tongue unwieldy: “Take care of yourself. Please.”

With that, he leaves, resisting the urge to run; her light singes his heels.


End file.
